It felt so cold in that lake.
The chill embraced me, touched my skin with its long, thin fingers. It brushed my hair, grazed the slowly-fading glow of my cheeks, and enveloped my nose, constricting my breathing. I told it to stop, no, please but it didn't listen, several weeks of friendship obscured in the darkness of that deep lake, and I spiralled.
I met it during the summer. I frequented the lake (which was near my home, but not really near, as I had to travel through an extraordinary number of thickets over an equally extraordinary number of rolling hills after crossing an old, dusty road) a little bit more often than the usual tourists or day strollers, because I had no friends. Why should I? The children in the village convent were spawns of the same devil who fornicated with several wives, who inherited their progenitor's curious laughter when they tied me to the big oak tree or glued me to my desk or hurled unmentionable insults at my direction.
Yes, I was the unfortunat